I’ve been quite chatty lately. I apologize in advanced (and by that I totally mean I am sorry that I am not sorry).
So I’ve been thinking—- Reevaluating even.
I’ve noticed that lately my entire life has been laying itself out for me to stare at—- and lately, its been giving me this straight forward, deer-in-the-headlights look as a response to me staring. (queue my imaginary non-existent white mother telling me that staring isn’t a polite thing to do). I can’t shake that stare off.
The more I stare at my life, the more I try to organize it into this nicely put grid where I can Instagram the shit out of it at every single damn angle. Consequently, I feel as if I’m being clever, and as if I’m out witting the ultimate Wit-wizard. But who the fuck am I kidding? I’m bullshitting myself. I’m fooling myself. I’m just flailing my arms around in hope to catch some sort of sense that flies on by. Seriously. Fuck.
I sat in class today and dozed off into this deep deep deep deep abyss of doubt. I seriously thought to myself “what is my existence” (no, there were no illegal substances in my body) and “man I could really use a drink right now” (again, still no illegal substances in my body). It was just a thought that moseyed on by and made me rethink my life as if it had some signifigance. I mean, fucking shit you guys—- Every damn move you make and every word you speak creates this wave of afterthought and aftermath and in even doing nothing does something. I repeat: Even doing nothing does something.
I cannot stress to you enough dear reader how much needed this upcoming week is for me. I need a break.